A Fatal Truth. Faith Martin

bought boxes and boxes.’

      ‘And these were stored in the wooden shed at the back of the garden?’

      ‘Yes.’

      ‘Thank you. Please continue.’

      Alice Wilcox again took a deep breath. ‘Well, when Father had got an idea fixed in his head, it was no use trying to talk him out of it,’ she said, then aware that this might sound disloyal, forced a brief smile to her pale lips. ‘Father was always a very strong-minded man, and he liked things just so.’

      ‘I understand,’ Clement soothed her. He could see she was getting flustered, thinking she’d said the wrong thing, and he helped her out with a brisk question. ‘Did the other members of the family ring to ask if the festivities would be cancelled?’

      ‘Oh no,’ Alice said. ‘They knew I would have telephoned them and let them know if Father’s plans had changed.’

      ‘I see. At what time was the fireworks display due to start?’

      ‘Six-thirty. Joan – that’s my brother’s Matthew’s wife – wanted to make sure her little ones were in bed by seven-thirty at the latest. So we lit the bonfire at about quarter past six, and then father went into the shed to begin collecting the fireworks.’

      Again, the room became very quiet, with not even the odd shuffle of feet or the rasp of clothing against clothing to mar the stillness.

      ‘Was this the usual routine?’ Clement asked encouragingly.

      ‘Yes. We’ve lived at the big house in Headington since 1958, so we’d had three previous parties there, and that was always how Father did it. He wouldn’t have fireworks in the house, he said it wasn’t safe. In case of … fire.’

      Alice dipped her head and faltered again on the last word. Somewhere, someone in the public section gave a soft gasp of sympathy.

      ‘He sounds eminently sensible,’ Clement said, keeping his voice both crisp and calm. He glanced down at his notes and said, ‘Your father was a retired businessman I understand?’

      For some reason, this brought her head up sharply. She turned her attention from the jury back to the coroner, and Clement could see that she’d gone almost white. Her gaze, too, was definitely startled – and alarmed.

      ‘Well … yes, that’s right, yes he was,’ Alice mumbled, after a visible hesitation.

      A handsome young man on the press bench smiled somewhat grimly at this, and made a quick, predatory note, his pencil digging deeply into the notebook on his lap.

      Clement, not sure why such an innocuous question – which again he had asked only to help her out of an uncomfortable moment – should cause her such unease, moved on briskly.

      ‘Did you have difficulty lighting the bonfire? The wood and detritus must have got thoroughly soaked during the daytime rain?’

      ‘Oh yes, Godfrey and Kenneth had a real job getting it going. In the end, I think they used a little paraffin.’

      ‘This paraffin was normally kept stored in the shed?’ Clement asked gently.

      ‘Yes, I believe so,’ Alice acknowledged miserably.

      ‘And can you remember if the paraffin was returned to the shed once the bonfire was lit?’

      ‘I think so. Yes, I’m pretty sure I saw my brother put it back, just inside the door.’ Again, his witness responded unhappily, and he cast the jury a quick look to make sure they’d got the point. The garden shed, as well as containing a large stack of fireworks, was also the repository of other, very flammable materials.

      ‘What happened then?’

      Alice squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. ‘Once the bonfire was going, I went back into the kitchen and began wrapping up some sausages and potatoes to put into the base of the bonfire. Father liked to make use of the fire to cook the food, as they did when he was a boy. Caroline, my sister, helped me with this.’

      ‘And then?’

      ‘I took them out, all piled onto a tray, and left them on an old iron garden table that we keep near the kitchen window. Later, when the bonfire wasn’t so fierce, I was going to push them into the base of the fire with an old shovel or something to bake. So I went in the shed for something to use, and, yes, I’m sure I remember Father coming up the path towards me as I left with an old rake. I assumed it was to get the fireworks. I smiled at him as he passed.’

      Here she paused, then took another deep breath and pushed on. ‘I went back to the bonfire … no, wait, sorry. I went back into the kitchen again to fetch the hot chocolate for the children. That’s right. I’d just bought out the jug and mugs, and had put them on the table, when I heard a big bang behind me. It made me jump. Of course, I realised right away what it was,’ she said with a nervous smile. ‘It was a banger going off. I thought at first that it must have come from one of the neighbour’s back gardens. Children do so love bangers, don’t they?’ She managed another smile and shot a quick glance at the jury.

      One or two of them smiled back at her and nodded.

      ‘But then I heard someone – I think it was my brother Matthew – shout something about the shed, and I turned around and saw flames were coming out of open doorway.’

      ‘The door was open?’ Clement emphasised.

      ‘Yes. Yes, I’m sure it was. As I watched, something colourful – all blue and red – started fizzing about inside, and I realised it was a firework.’

      Clement glanced around the room. On a grey, wet, Monday morning in November, his courtroom looked chilly and dull, but the atmosphere was as tense as he’d ever seen it.

      ‘What did you do, Mrs Wilcox?’ Clement asked quietly.

      ‘Nothing,’ Alice said simply. ‘I didn’t know what to do. At first, I couldn’t understand it. I couldn’t think why Father would have let off a firework inside the shed.’

      She looked down at her hands and shrugged. ‘I think I turned to Godfrey, who was standing closest to me, and asked him where Father was. I couldn’t see him, you see. I thought at first that he must just be standing in the dark, outside the light thrown up by the bonfire. But then I realised I couldn’t see him in the light from the kitchen window either. Then suddenly, there was this huge explosion of bangs and whizzes and coloured sparks, and it looked as if the shed trembled.’

      The shed in question, he knew from the fire inspector’s report, had been a standard, six-by-ten foot wooden shed, common to gardens all over the country, where they were used to store garden tools, wheelbarrows, sacks of potatoes, winter logs and other odds and ends.

      ‘We all sort of … screamed. And then the shed roof began to really blaze,’ Alice said, gulping out the words now. ‘The smoke was really thick, and my husband, Kenneth, shouted out Father’s name and ran towards the shed, but as he did so, a rocket shot out of the door and veered off into the neighbour’s fence. It didn’t hit him, but it only missed by a few inches. I called at him to come back. I was afraid … You see, I didn’t want … I didn’t know, then, that Father was in the shed, and I didn’t understand why he was going so close and putting himself in danger like that.’

      Her jerky words echoed around the silent room, as everyone digested her words – and the horror of the scene.

      ‘My brother Godfrey said something about Father not coming out of the shed, and then I realised … But by then, the whole shed was ablaze – the heat was infernal. And fireworks kept going off, explosion after explosion … It was like being back in the Blitz. I visited London once as a child during the war and I never forgot the air raid …’ She trailed off and shot the coroner a look of mute appeal.

      ‘Thank you, Mrs Wilcox, I think we’ll hear about the rest of the events from your husband now.’

      ‘Oh, thank you,’ Alice said and left the witness box